Doom3
by Jacob R. Dring
Summary: The Marine sent to the UAC facility on Mars in 2145 to replace yet another MIA personnel and to confirm several complaints arrives soon to find macabre and horror--and beyond Hell itself. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction**

For some time now the Union Aerospace Corporation (UAC) has been running its established research facility on Mars. The UAC does not have full control over the base, however, for that is currently in the hands of Dr. Malcolm Betruger. Dr. Betruger, a theologian heading the base, has been running teleportation tests for some time now—and supposedly has discovered something that may change the world forever. However, the UAC does have its part in controlling the facility, providing the manpower and security needed to maintain order in the base; the job has been handed over to the Marines of the U.S. Corps. On Mars. But research isn't the only thing going on in the facility. Weapons testing and production has drawn the minds of many Marines to Mars—but been fooled upon arrival.

**oNe**

Some joker probably laughed his head off as he started playing that moldy old song over the transport intercom. "Ha, ha, ha. I'll really bowl 'em over with this one." It might have been a funny prank if the grunts in my last platoon hadn't hummed the tune every time I walked by.

"Hey, Corporal, I heard you got transferred to Mars City," and they would hum "Rocket Man" by Elton John. Everyone thought he was the first to come up with it. I never laughed. Finding out that I got the 150-million-mile transfer to Mars City sucked the humor right out of me, but I didn't blame the other guys for joking around. We knew someone was going to Mars, and they were relived when they found out it wasn't them. Had I not gotten the nod, I may have been singing, too.

My old sergeant gave me the "Rocket Man" music chip as a parting prize. "Sorry you got the world's worst transfer, Corporal," he'd said with a grin. "But here's a little going away present." Then he'd laugh that sinister laugh I was glad to not here for awhile yet. Of course, who knows what I will find on Mars.

Mars City, however, was not a Marine Corps base. That just made it worse for me and the other jarheads. It belonged to the Union Aerospace Corporation—a multinational corporation with annual profits equaling the combined gross national products in all of South America. But the UAC _did_ specialize in military contracting. There was a time when UAC specialized in contracting for the U.S. Military, but it grew too big to be carried with just one nation. Now it designed weapons for anyone who could pay. You couldn't wage a war without killing a fellow UAC customer.

Union Aerospace's work on Mars, though…now that was special. That was all ours. It was between the UAC and the U.S. Marine Corps. We told them that we wanted to redefine the term "rapid deployment." They told us that they were working on a special teleportation experimentation process that could make our—the Marines'—lives so much better. With their new device, we would be able to send platoons around the world at the speed of light—no more supply-line screw-ups or transporting hang-ups. No more setting up camp along the nearest friendly border.

UAC executives said that they wanted to develop the project in their new Mars labs, and the Secretary of the Marines said, "That's' fine. We'll supply the security force." That's me and 149 other jarheads. Put up with a 12-month tour of Mars City, living in a tin-can world babysitting a bunch of weak scientists, and you got an automatic promotion when you returned home. Piece of cake.

But the friggin' company on the way up…Normally you would transfer with a squad of Marines. I received the unfortunate pair of a UAC lawyer and a UAC security goon. The two were practically perfect for each other; of course, in a vile way. They didn't care for my company, either. They sat in the front of the cabin. I sat in the back.

Elliot Swann was the lawyer, and go figure—he wouldn't stop talking. He went on gabbing about contracts and legal issues. Jack Campbell, Swann's "body guard," tried to ignore him mostly. He grunted every now and then. In fact, I wouldn't have known if Campbell was alive if he didn't grunt so often. Can't say that I blamed Campbell, though. It was a five-day trip to Mars, and patience only descended over time. Quickly, too. And Swann, the kind of courtroom commando with coffee in his blood, never slept and never shut up. He sat there, receding hairline slicked back and extended scalp line shining in the cabin lights, and talked and talked and talked.

Not that I liked Campbell any better, though. The guy had the feel of a mercenary—somebody who enjoyed killing a bit too much to join an army. Armies have rules about when and where to kill. He reminded me of a bayonet in an undersized scabbard—his sharp edges were covered, but barely. Swann, meanwhile, who was undoubtedly Albert Einstein in a courtroom, lacked the social intelligence to know he was tempting death. Campbell just sat there and did his best to restrain from using his sidearm.

And just when I thought I couldn't handle another fun-filled minute on the transport, I heard the hiss of retro rockets and the ringing clank of thick iron.

We had landed in Mars City.


	2. Chapter 2

**tWo**

I stepped off the transport and realized that Mars City was a lot worse than I had expected. The landing bay was all metal, glass, and plastic, with dark corners and which made me wonder how poor the interior will be… "Welcome home," I muttered. Naming this Mars complex a city was like calling a sardine can a condominium for fish.

And apparently having a desk job gets you right through security in this burg. One moment I saw Swann and Campbell behind me…then I felt a tingle run down my spine and turned to see this creepy-looking scientist staring down from an overhead observation deck. When I looked back, Swann and Campbell were gone—passed through security. Me, I had to play twenty questions and let them take a blood sample to make sure I wasn't a spy or germ carrier. They pricked my finger for blood when I boarded the transport and now they wanted to prick it again.

Goddamn mosquitoes.

I mean, what did they think I might have picked up during a nonstop flight to Mars?

On the other hand, you didn't have to hang around Mars City very long before the paranoia became contagious. The geek with the manhole-sized glasses wasn't watching me; his eyes were locked onto stacks of crates marked confidential unloading from the cargo port of the transport. Maybe it was the transfer or the shock of finding myself stuck in a tin can on a hostile planet…my heart throbbing through my breastbone. The guy didn't even notice me staring at him. All he seemed to care about was his precious boxes.

Across the floor I saw another guy curled up in his seat, kind of in the fetal position. He rocked back and forth mumbling, "I gotta get outta here, I gotta get outta here…" I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but then the brief but sharp pain struck my finger and the needle was withdrawn as the blood spurted.

"You got many more like him up here?" I asked the bloodletter.

"Plenty of 'em," he said. "He's one of the lucky ones—he's going home today."

_Lucky_..._I'll bet so_.

"Home being a padded room?" I joked.

"Probably, but at least it's on Earth." His little analyzing machine spit up a strip of paper that looked like something you'd pull from a fortune cookie. "You're clean," he said. His next grin was low and unsure, a bit grim and vague. "Have a nice stay on Mars."

I nodded once, staring down at the metallic grated floor as I passed on.

But I wasn't through security yet, for next I had to enter a bio-scanning procedure. This checked all my vital signs, including exterior health and such. Supposedly, at least. Even as I stood there completely still with the flat red beam twisting and falling over me, the man controlling it before me in a glass-encased control room, I just wanted to pop the question: _"So if y'all are doing this…then why the blood-prick?"_ But myself being a Marine—allegedly polite and following all orders—I wouldn't dare talk back or criticize their security methods.

Once the scan was complete, the man behind the control console and glass pane said that I was clear for entry.

_Thank God,_ I thought to myself, then wondered if He even existed in this hellhole.

Through the next pneumatic door I entered what looked like the lobby of Mars City, where before me by a few meters was a middle-aged man sitting behind a regular desk with a computer. This was the first 'normal' guy I have yet to seen, better than the bloodletter in fact. His black hair was calm as his face and he smiled at me as I halted before his desk. I set down my duffel bag and signed a couple papers he asked me to. Transfer confirmations.

"Glad to be at Mars, Marine?" He said as he took the signed papers and scrounged around in some drawer of his desk. His tone was easy and sarcastic. A friendly man. Earth was the place for him, not here.

"Sure," I said back, trying not to laugh that pathetic _please help me_ laugh.

He did anyways, relieving me of it. He handed over a PDA, or Personal Data Assistant, to me, which I gladly took. The man briefly explained to me what it was: practically the size of a Palm Pilot, which holds on of one's security clearance and can store other's PDA data. Basically a virtual key, among others. So I slipped it inside one of my pants pockets and bent down to retrieve my baggage but the man stopped me.

"Don't bother, Marine." He said, waving a hand. "We'll take care of that. But for now you have direct orders coming from Sergeant Kelly. He wants you to get down to see him at Marine Headquarters as soon as possible. All you need is your PDA, if you get lost."

I nodded to him, "Thanks."

"Enjoy your stay." He coughed. I smiled as I turned to make my way.

The hallways were all identical: grayish metallic walls, white writing on the sides to show directions, all the same metal floors. I felt like I was in some machine. Then there were AutoDoors, some that were green-lit for entry or others red-lit for being locked. The majority were red, and those that were green—well if I even approached them I was somehow stopped by a random personnel, usually a fully-suited Marine.

Then I made my way through an empty lobby of some sort that, across the way, was a green-lit door where I needed to continue. But I happened to pass by a glass-encased office on my way, and overheard the conversation of the three men inside. From my angle and theirs, luckily, I couldn't be seen…yet.

It was Elliot Swann, Jack Campbell…and a familiar face that I wish I wouldn't see too often here. Dr. Malcolm Betruger. Swann was at one end of a long rectangular table while Betruger stood at the other. This way the two probably would jump on each other.

Swann was reading the riot act to Betruger, snarling at him like apparent would a grown but troublemaking boy. Meanwhile, Mr. Campbell had his back to me, off to the sidelines, just speculating the argumentation.

"I don't like the way you're running these experiments," Swann yelled, poking a finger in the air, but not daring to tap that finger on Betruger's chest. "In fact, I don't like how you're running this facility _at all_."

"And you think that _you_ could do a better job?" Betruger barked back.

_Don't answer that question,_ I told myself. I knew that kind of question…it was worse than rhetorical.

"Damn right I could do a better job!" Swann shouted, then went on about how the UAC Board has elected him representative and….

That had been my cue to leave, a long time ago, so I went on ahead.

Within a few moments I ran into what I thought at first was a dead end. A Marine, full-suited with assault rifle in hands and helmet covering face, stood 'on guard' at a wall that led down two ways. To my left was indeed a dead end. To my right, however, I could see the large AutoDoor labeled "Marine HQ." With my pause, however, the Marine acted a tough guy and told me that Sergeant Kelly wanted to see me at Marine HQ ASAP. Exact words. I nodded, didn't talk back, and sighed as I went onwards.

Something that slightly bothered me as I approached the final AutoDoor leading into Marine HQ was the heavy chaingun mounted above the door on the ceiling. The thing had to be at least four feet long, six-barreled, probably .45-Cal. Of course I have been hearing about some Mach-3 Chain gun that's hand-held and uses .48-Caliber rounds that can literally shred a person to pieces in seconds.

Those are a Marine's dreams, right there.

The gun slowly rotated every now and then, but I didn't wait outside the door too long to see it move again. I quickly stepped forward and entered this 'Marine HQ,' which happened to be about the size of my bathroom at my Earth home. The front of it, where we faced, was just a thick line of computer consoles and a large holographic data screen.

"Took your sweet time, Marine?" It was Sergeant Kelly, with a mechanical voice, turning around to greet me. I didn't answer that. I was actually going to, going to apologize, but he went on to tell me what my 'assignment' was. "We've got a missing scientist, new guy. And _you_ get to find him. Any questions?"

"Are you going to tell me when I'm getting hotter or colder, Sarge?...or give me a few clues where to look?"

I regretted asking that even as I said it. You should _nev__er_ ask an officer where to "find," "shove," or "stick" things. In this case, however, I was lucky and got off easy. He simply gave me a wolfish smile. "Any other questions, Corporal?" he said with a smirk.

"Do you have any suggestions as to where I might find this scientist?" Afterall, it was indeed a must-answer question. Without even a slight clue I would become no better than a rat in a maze.

"There's an abandoned communications tower near the north corner of the base. The HR guy who called in the report thought he might be there." Sergeant Kelly told me. "Oh, and make sure to pick up your armor and pistol on the way out, Corporal."

"You think I'll need them?" I asked, although I wasn't quite sure why I was questioning such a thing. It's more bodily protection and getting that familiar feel of a weapon in your hands that makes a Marine's day so much better. Afterall, what a women in my last platoon had said always stuck in my mind: one day we were going out to the cafeteria…a simple walk through the base at night. She equipped herself with a Glock. I asked what was she doing bringing that to just the mess hall; she said that she didn't plan on using it. I pushed, then, and said "why bother bringing it?" She responded with a grin: "Same principle as a condom. I'd rather have one and not need it, then need it and not have one."

Indeed. But I had asked anyhow, and received an answer.

"With a scientist? He'll be nuts, but he won't be dangerous."

I nodded and left.

On my way out, a Marine Security Officer gave me access to my body armor suit, 12mm Pistol and ammo, and a flashlight. The armor came over me with a loud clanking noise that at first startled me, but then the uncomfortable feel Marines got use to so quickly disrupted the uneasiness and I felt the pistol grip of the 12mm in my right hand. I fingered the trigger a bit like a kid playing with a new toy, then slipped it—safety on—into my hip holster. The flashlight, which at first I figured may be useless (what was I thinking), took a dive in my left pant pocket.

The path to the abandoned com tower was like a space-age version of Dracula's dungeon. The bulkheads slid slowly in this nearly deserted part of Mars City. In an effort to preserve energy, a quite pathetic one at that too, the so-so-VIP kept the lights down in this section of the base. Shadows formed around the intake pipes that ran along the corridor and darkened those cubbies and especially isolated corners. Now I all of a suddenly felt the cylindrical shaft of that red flashlight, but found myself in no need of it as I neared the airlock. This would lead outside, where I would have to make a dash for the neighboring com tower.

Taking a deep breath as the inner doors sealed and the outer door of the airlock clicked open, I jogged the fifty feet between the base and the tower. Without a generator modulating the gravity, my every step was like a damned long jump. The air, or whatever that atmosphere was, was friggin' _cold_!

If the communications tower door had not opened just then, I might have frozen to death. It opened with a sliding metallic squeal, and I almost literally dove in. As the airlock sealed shut behind me with a relatively loud _click_, the ones before me curled open. I stepped inside, walked down a short corridor with shaggy metallic walls—but thankfully well-lit—then turned the corner and entered the main com room. And there was my target—a babbling, sobbing, quivering specimen of pointy-headed humanity. When he turned and saw me, my pistol already raised, whatever light was in the dim room hit his face and I could tell that the Asian man's eyes were dilated and tears ran down his elder cheeks.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Stay away! Don't come any closer!"

"They sent me to…"

"No, I _must_ contact them. Oh God, this could be the end!" The man was ranting on, his tone full of fear and worry. "They must stay away, they can't come. We're all going to die, but they cannot come here."

Although I felt like poking fun of the nut scientist, I felt a sudden chill down my spine as the main computer screen before us lit up. It showed a teleportation portal, indeed, and something was coming out of it. Suddenly there was a bright flash of cerulean and amber, white light masking the screen before dying down…

"No—it's too late!" the man suddenly screamed, then barked at me: "You must not send for help, they can't come here…we have to—"

The explosion in the Mars City complex must have been cataclysmic. The entire communications tower, a broad, tall building made of sturdy steel construction, pitched in its force. There was a security station beside the communications terminal. On it, I saw other monitors flashing too brightly, then flickering out. A few screens stayed, showing scenes of utter devastation.

'It may have been a nuclear attack,' I thought, but either way I found something deep inside me that doubted such an idea. The glowing shockwave spread through the city like a flood, splashing over everybody that got in its way; and that happened to be just about _everything_ currently present in the complex. In fact, I thought I saw phantom shapes in that shockwave, like giant ghostly people moving.

I shook my head free of the sight.

One by one, the last of the security screens winked out, including the main one of the blown teleportation portal. Then the lights in this room died and it became completely pitch black; I couldn't see a thing, groping around for the scientist with my hands like antennae. I was reaching for my flashlight when the room shook and an amber twister of light and flames burst from the center of the floor. I could have sworn that I saw human skulls, screaming with teeth, floating along with the ribbons of red-white light and fire. Then the whole room's walls lit with the same light, strange designs painting them like Henna, and a sinister scream erupted. It didn't seem to last just in this room—although here it did indeed echo—but instead spreading throughout the whole facility. It raised the hairs up on the back of my neck and I felt like puking.

I could see the scientist now, and reached out for him.

But then one of the skulls from the twirling of light floated off—then shot straight through the scientist's back. His body momentarily lit up then I saw his face suddenly change; his skin went darker, more ill, the bags under his eyes turned from mauve to crimson and his eyes glowed. Blood suddenly leaked from the corner of his mouth and he stumbled forward at me. His arms were stretched out, like he was some damned mummy or something, and he made grunting sounds as he snapped his jaws at me. I stepped back just as the twister of light and the designs on the walls faded and whatever dim light was restored.

All seemed normal now, except for _this_.

I raised the pistol, again, and barked at him to keep his distance. He obviously seemed very ill—_very_ ill. And as he progressed towards me, slowly, he became more aggressive. And I became more scared shitless.

I pulled the trigger, putting one 12mm round square in his chest. It went through, alright, blood spurting from the wound. But he didn't drop. _No way_. I put another, this time bulls-eye into his heart; his left shoulder jerked back from the close impact—practically point-blank range—but the scientist remained afoot and alive.

If you could call that 'alive.'

Then I raised the pistol and did what I should have before—I just didn't want to ruin his face anymore than it had already been. A pretty vile way to die, an innocent man. Innocent?

I pulled the trigger for the last time, sending a slug to his forehead. Bits of brains and scalp shot out the back of his skull, and he dropped to the floor. His body went limp and there was a low _thud_ upon impact; then he just lay there…_damn right, you're dead_.

All of a sudden the communications system in my helmet came online. I heard men shouting, guns blazing, and strange animalistic sounds in the background. "Smitty, go there—go there!" Then a bunch of static, then it went live again, and the shouts of Marines turned into miserable screams for help…There were those strange sounds again, from some sort of animals—creatures—in their background, before a small explosion sounded and the link went dead with static.

Subsequently, as I turned for the exit, another frequency came online. This one contained the same array of sounds: shouts, gunfire, strange creature noises—like high-pitched roars, or screeches—and then all followed by screams of pain. "Oh God, they're coming through the walls!" I heard, and at that moment a cloud of fear shrouded my brain; my heart throbbed in my chest as I turned the corner and approached the airlock.

The moment I veered around the corner, however, I was met with another opposition. It was a Marine, alright—but he didn't look all too well. Very ill, like the scientist in the prior situation. The bags beneath his eyes were burgundy, like hardened blood, and his facial skin including down on his arms were all scarred up. His armor seemed quite rusted, too, as with the strange red color of his military boots; in his right hand was a 12mm Pistol.

"Hey," I said in a friendly manner, putting up my left hand palm facing him. But before I could talk anything more, the man—if indeed he still was human (I found myself deranged thinking that)—raised the sidearm and aimed it at me. Fortunately for myself, I reacted quicker than he could pull the trigger; I ducked and shot three consecutive rounds into his abdomen. Blood splattered the floor and he doubled over, but that weapon remained in his fingers' clutches. I stood and pulled off a hasty round while aiming at his head. When anyone rushes a shot, even if it were John Wayne himself, accuracy is always decreased. In this case, I missed his head completely but walloped him directly in the Adam's Apple. The single-shot impact seemed to _almost_ decapitate him, his neck opening up and his throat giving way to globs of blood and saliva. He gurgled the gore in what was left of his throat for a couple seconds before dropping and letting his back _crack_ upon impact with the floor.

I knelt down, quickly, to his body and hastily looked over him. Or, more rather, _it_. The body, as I prodded it gently with the muzzle of my 12mm, seemed quite soft and fragile. The flesh, at least, and probably the bones inside too. I'm not sure why I think this, but I already have a theory inside my mind about what this _thing_ was—and what the scientist had turned into back there.

But certainty hadn't grounded yet, and I don't wish to reveal my…theory.

I pried the still 12mm Pistol from the ex-Marine's dead-limp fingers, and in the process accidentally broke a couple off. The two fingers were so delicately attached that they just came with the handgun as I pulled it away. I felt queasy in my stomach, felt like purging myself of the lunch onboard the Darkstar, but resisted. I wiped the Pistol off from the blood on it and put it in my hip-holster.

I felt a sudden cold breeze as I stepped through the airlock, then took to a sprint as I approached the distant facility. I stepped inside, feeling warmth consume me once again, slightly relieved. But when I stepped through the airlock back into the base, I wasn't so relieved anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**thRee**

A lot had changed greatly in mars City during the few moments I was away. The place may have been dark before, but it was clean. Teams of janitors scrubbed every inch of that base. Now it was a holy mess. I came in from the abandoned passageway that led to the communications tower, and the first lobby I entered was littered with bodies. A splattered and broken corpse lay sprawled over a workstation. There was a puddle of blood in the center of the floor and a long, wide streak of crimson where a body had been dragged through.

_Somebody was coming_. I could hear the lumbering, soft foot steps on the tile floor, then spun back around to face my onward continuation to see an approaching shadow. I could only see his silhouette, but I recognized the signs of injury—the limp and the stiff body movements. He was dragging a leg, even.

The man saw me and paused. He turned closer to my position and started hobbling in my direction. He must have been shot in the torso. _That's just _great I thought, _He may as well be the only other guy alive in __Mars__City__ and he's bleeding to death from a stomach wound_. Then the guy stepped into the light cast by a dangling fluorescent fixture.

I gasped as I brought to aim my pistol.

It was one of the janitors, a fat and bald man with rolls of flab under his chin and cruddy-looking overalls. Now his overalls hung completely open, exposing his swollen gut. His skin had gone waxy and his eyes shined white like electric marbles, no pupils visible. There was even a patch of skin missing on the lower right-hand side of his stomach, where dried blood marked his flesh; the looks of three scratches—some sort of claw marks—had formed on his upper chest. This man was hurt bad, but I wasn't sure that he was even himself anymore. He sort of flung his shoulders in my direction and moved towards me.

The fat man was slow and lumbering, his left arm reaching out but grabbing only air as I stepped back.

I squeezed off a round and hit him square in the chest. The bullet sank into his waxy skin, and although blood was drawn it seemed to have no more force than a poorly thrown baseball. He grunted as I planted another right into his heart. Even after a follow-up shot which struck him between the eyes, the bastard kept coming. His head tilted to the side while blood and brains leaked from his forehead. He grunted and revealed decaying teeth to me, sort of growling at me. I pulled off another, and the last, which entered just below his right eye. The big man hit the floor so hard that his head bounced, while his all-white eyes seemed to fix on me, staring into my own. For a moment I thought that he may get back up, but when I nudged his head with my foot—I was sure that wasn't going to happen. I didn't even put force behind me foot, not nearly a kick; but when my booted toes touched his right temple, that side of his head caved inward and blood and brains spewed out. I shook my boot to get rid of some of the brains, blood, and skull shavings that had poured unto it, then carefully stepped over the dead _thing_.

Alright, _now_ I was ready to share my so-called 'theory.' After seeing that scientist be 'turned' right before my eyes, and then the marine and now this janitor, I have plenty reason to believe that these people have been, well…_zombiefied_. It would explain it, alright. What else could it be? For now I might as well stick to the small chance of the people being attacked yet simultaneously on PCP or something…nobody takes four slugs, especially one in the heart and two to the face. It's just not right. But before I further revealed my hypothesis about these men being zombies, I'll stick to the drugged-up option.

"Listen, is there anybody out? Does anybody read me? Do you read me?" I knew that voice. It was Sergeant Kelly. I turned to my left and there against the wall was a vidphone. I approached it, checking my back first; I didn't want to be caught off guard talking to Sarge then the next minute get shot in the back…or whatever else, in the back.

"Sarge," I said, "I read you, Sarge."

"New guy? He asked, sounding astonished. "That you?"

I nodded. "I was in the tower when the explosion hit. What the f…"

"No time for questions, son." Sergeant Kelly said. "I'm calling all units back to HQ. You read me? Fall back. We're going to regroup and carve these guys a new ass. Speaking of asses, get yours down here right away. Roger that?"

"Yessir."

"Alright, good luck Marine…out."

The vidphone shutoff and I turned to continue onwards. I passed through a by door, which hissed as it opened vertically.

The scene was strange, almost hallucinatory. I saw people I recognized, people I saw only an hour earlier. The induction officer that drew my blood lay face up in the hall. Some of his gut was gone, as if torn from his body. I couldn't tell if that had caused his death or if it had occurred postmortem. Either way, it was terrible enough. His face was twisted in agony, his eyes turned way up in their sockets so that only the bottoms of his irises showed.

There was blood _everywhere_ and other signs of destruction. Huge computers lay thrashed sideways on the floor. Several entryways hung askew. Papers and debris littered the floor, along with the bodies and body parts. And the blood was so thick in some areas that it made the floor slippery.

Marine Headquarters was the worst. Some of the guys tried to make a stand here. But whatever hit them had bulldozed right through, relentlessly. One guy I had seen prior to meeting up with Sarge now sat against the wall as if taking a siesta; but when I approached him for a closer look, I saw that his head was turned clear around with his chin slumped between his shoulder blades.

Sergeant Kelly called to me from a monitor overlooking this mess. "They're dead," I said as I approached the screen. "Every last one of 'em."

"I've found a few survivors so far," Kelly said, "there are ten of us, including you. Look, Corporal, we need to radio for help. We've been hit hard; whoever did this is still here. We're going to need reinforcements before we can stop them, before they get what they came for."

"Have you seen them?" I asked. "What are they?"

I caught myself in the tracks of my voice, saying _what_ instead of _who_ they were. I didn't bother to correct myself.

Kelly shook his head. "I don't know. It looks like it was an inside job. I just capped a couple of guys I recognized—scientists from the Alpha Labs."

"Me too," I said. "The scientist I went after—" and I found myself stopping before I finished on with 'who turned right before me.' _Turned_, that was wrong vocabulary at the time of sharing my so-called theory. "…And then a Marine, who was about to shoot at me. Most recently, a janitor…son of a bitch must have been on PCP or worse. It took four shots to drop him."

"Drugs?" Kelly said. "Yeah, that would explain a lot. The guys I saw looked like they didn't have an ounce of blood in their veins, except for when I shot 'em…they moved slow 'n stiff." He thought about this for a moment and nodded. "We're meeting up in the main communications center. If we can get the message out, maybe we can dig in until reinforcements arrive.

I signed off and took one last look around HQ. A lot of good men died here. Would anybody remember them? Would anybody ever know what happened? As I walked to the hatch to leave, I heard a loud clicking noise—like a monstrous cricket, or something deranged like that. I turned around to see bundle of thick piping that I had passed earlier on, where a flame jutted out of one of them. It had never been in my way, so I hadn't worried about it. But the fire leak didn't make that noise.

Suddenly there was a screech as a shadow formed from atop the wide pair of pipes and something crawled out of the small gap in the wall.


End file.
